


Unravel

by WhatIsAir



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:04:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatIsAir/pseuds/WhatIsAir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty abducts Sherlock and has his way with him. More or less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unravel

It was all terribly cliche and horribly predictable, in the end.

In fact, Sherlock would have laughed if his vocal chords weren't being so ridiculously uncooperative. He struggled to shake off the effects of the drug as he swam in and out of consciousness. His current predicament he catalogued without opening his eyes - heavily drugged, judging by his complete lack of control over muscle movement - arms bound and cuffed above his head, so most of his weight rested on straining shoulders - blooming pain in his sternum, most likely from the scuffle before he was drugged and brought here.

Wherever 'here' was. He opened his eyes.

It was a sparsely furnished hotel room, from what Sherlock could tell. The walls were a dull shade of dirty yellow, and shutters blocked the window, giving him no clue as to the time of day. A double bed, a chest of drawers, a sofa, and a coffee table were the room's only furnishings, along with a door leading to the en suite bathroom. He was secured by a chain suspending from the ceiling, pulled taut so as to maximize the discomfort in his arms.

Try as he might, Sherlock simply couldn't recall anything beyond leaving New Scotland Yard. He remembered perfectly well giving chase to the serial rapist, John at his side, the two of them haring after the criminal for four streets before their confrontation by the pier. He remembered John overpowering their man, successfully incapacitating him. He remembered Lestrade and his team arriving shortly thereafter, taking the unconscious man away. He remembered going with John to NSY to give their statements. What he didn't remember was anything past the point of leaving NSY.

Just as he was contemplating whether he should delve deeper into his mind palace in search of the elusive memories, footsteps muffled by the carpet-lined corridor were heard.

"Hello, my dear!" a lilting, vaguely Irish voice exclaimed, and Jim Moriarty stepped into the room, black eyes glittering, mouth stretched wide in an insincere grin.

Sherlock mentally berated himself for not piecing things together sooner, although his sudden amnesia was still nagging uncomfortably at him. He tried turning his head but his limbs were still effectively paralysed by the drugs in his system.

"Still can't move?" Moriarty drawled, prowling lithely around the detective as though stalking his prey, "Don't worry, dear, it's better if you don't."

A throaty rasp was about all the noise Sherlock could make, and it apparently amused Moriarty to no end.

"Not planning on screaming for help, are you, Sherlock? Tsk, tsk. You of all people should know better."

Sherlock did know. It was useless trying to call for help. Moriarty wasn't stupid; he would have taken measures to ensure their complete privacy.

If there was anyone who could fool Mycroft's omniscient eye, it was Moriarty. (And Sherlock himself, naturally.)

"Look at you, all tied up," Moriarty breathed, a manic gleam in his reptilian eyes, "The perfect damsel in distress, wouldn't you agree?"

Sherlock's lack of a response earned him a stinging blow across the cheek, the skin almost immediately beginning to redden, causing Sherlock to hiss.

"Answer me," Moriarty faux-commanded, before tapping a thoughtful finger against his chin, "Oops, I almost forgot! You CAN'T!"

Sherlock hoped the withering glare he gave Moriarty conveyed clearly what he thought of the man.

Moriarty smirked, "Oooh, feeling feisty, are we, darling?" Another reprimanding smack, this time across the other side of Sherlock's face, snapping the detective's head to one side.

Almost gently, Moriarty turned Sherlock back to face him, cradling his head in both hands. Sherlock gave no response beyond gazing impassionately at the man, his mind intent on scouring the room for every last detail, anything that might help him escape.

Moriarty pouted, visibly put out. "Well, you're no fun at all!" he whined, the sound grating on Sherlock's eardrums. "And I do miss you having the use of your mouth..."

The consulting criminal clapped his hands, and the chain holding Sherlock up unravelled, and he would have collapsed if not for Moriarty, who caught him and tugged him over to lie on the bed.

"Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?" Moriarty said softly, as he trailed a single hand down the detective's side, his smirk widening when Sherlock flinched slightly but was unable to move away from the touch, paralysed as he was. His other hand cupped Sherlock's jaw tenderly, before he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to unresponsive lips.

"You don't mind doing me a favour, do you, Sherlock?" asked Moriarty cheerfully, shifting so he was lying atop the detective, and straddling his waist so his arousal was apparent to Sherlock. He began undoing his belt and fly, moving further up so his cock was aligned with the detective's mouth, which he forced open with two fingers.

Sherlock could no nothing to stop the intrusion. He couldn't even bite Moriarty in retaliation. His cooperation, or lack thereof, didn't seem to bother Moriarty, if the satisfied moans coming from him were any indication. He simply braced both arms against the headboard and ruthlessly fucked the detective's mouth, which, thanks to the sedatives, was slack and open. That didn't stop tears from springing into Sherlock's eyes at the abuse, as his oxygen supply was repeatedly cut off, Moriarty's prick choking him.

Moriarty's release was fast and hot, and spurted down the detective's throat, Moriarty massaging his windpipe to make sure he swallowed. With that he pulled out of Sherlock's mouth ad tucked himself back in, giving him an appreciative pat on the head as he did so. "Thank you, dear! Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" he grinned, leaning down to give the detective a peck on the cheek.

He climbed gracefully off the bed and made for the door, "Sorry, darling, I've got to run. Governments to threaten, clients to blow up, you know. I promise I'll be back soon, don't wait up!"

The words stirred something in Sherlock's hazy memory, a dim recollection of himself, telling John not to wait up as he left the flat. That was after the serial rapist case, just after he and John had gotten back to 221B. He was reasonably certain the kidnapping had taken place sometime there.

He regained enough use of his vocal chords to manage the word, "Jo-ohn?"

Moriarty paused in the doorway, looking back at his supine form contemplatively. "Your pet's safe, and if you want him to remain that way, I suggest you try not escaping the moment the drugs are out of your system."

The door slammed, and Sherlock was left alone once more.


End file.
